Winter's North Wind
by AelysAlthea
Summary: Arthur hated Christmas. No, he hated the Christmas holiday, the same every year, the same trip, the same boredom. At least until he met the young man who breathed wonder and abruptly turned such monotony into excellence itself. Arthur didn't like the Christmas holiday - except for one aspect, one friend, one glimmer of the impossible in the form of a man who wasn't quite human
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Arthur hated Christmas. No, he hated the Christmas holiday, the same every year, the same trip, the same boredom. At least until he met the young man who breathed wonder and abruptly turned such monotony into excellence itself.

Arthur didn't like the Christmas holiday - except for one aspect, one friend, one glimmer of the impossible in the form of a man who wasn't quite human.

 **Rating:** NC-17

 **Tags:** Merlin/Arthur, Episodic, WARNING: Suicidal Triggers, Dark Themes, Not-Really-Christmas-ey, Temporary Character Death

* * *

 _Arthur Pendragon: Ten Years Old_

 _Unwilling participant in the Annual Christmas Holiday Trip_

* * *

The first time Arthur saw him, he thought he was dancing in the snow.

He shouldn't have been outside at all, really. Not without his parents, despite _knowing_ that at ten years old he was practically a teenager, and a teenager was practically an adult. Regardless of his claims, Arthur's mother would always insist he came indoors before dark.

That day was different. It had been an accident that he'd stayed out as late as he had, but Arthur had been distracted. Not by friends, of course, for the little Swedish town north of Jokkmokk that hardly even warranted the title of village had no fellow children that Arthur would consider friends. Not even after visiting that very town every year for as long as he could remember.

That was a long time.

The best part about the annual trip that Arthur and his family undertook, the only part he really considered worth it, was the lookout. It wasn't much, was barely elevated atop a modest cliff as it peered out over a lake frozen white and icy, but it got a full blast of the wind in the afternoon. For some reason it always had.

And Arthur liked the wind. For reasons he couldn't quite define, he liked the lick of insubstantial fingers upon his cheeks, slapping them until they stung in the chill. He liked breathing in the sharp iciness until it scored his lungs and set them into frosty fire. He loved the feeling of teetering on the edge of cliff, feeling as though the wind might rock him from his feet or even pick him up and cast him flying into the air.

It wasn't Arthur's fault he'd been distracted by a particularly strong blast that afternoon. so distracted that he hadn't even noticed the sun sinking as night crept forth. When he'd blinked his eyes open to notice the stretching shadows, it was to a moment of panic before he'd brushed it aside.

 _Mum's going to freak out, but who cares? It's not like anything even happens in this town for her to worry about._

Turning from the lookout, Arthur had paused only a brief moment longer to bathe in the embracing, pulling, pushing forces of the north wind before starting his trudging way back to the cabin that they always staying in. Always. Every year. Exactly the same. He shucked up the heavy jacket on his shoulders a little more, stuffing his hands into his pockets and ducking his head into his scarlet scarf. Arthur loved the wind, loved the chill it brought along with it, but he still registered it as the almost painful freezing that it was.

A light fall of snow just began to speckle from the sky.

It was halfway home that Arthur heard the voice. The laughing voice of sheer delight with the brightness of youth and carefree excitement was pitching high to carry through the chilled evening air. It wasn't anything particularly exceptional, wouldn't have given Arthur pause even for a moment had he been back in his home in London, or in Ireland, or France or Belgium where they'd moved to more recently. His family, moving almost every year for his father's work, had all been exposed to their fair share of wondrous sights. In this little town, so small and unremarkable that it didn't even warrant a proper name, _nothing_ _happened_. Nothing to invoke such avid amusement. Nothing that should induce _laughter_ , or at least not in Arthur's opinion. That was what drew his attention.

Despite the rapidly encroaching darkness, Arthur followed the sound of that voice. He followed it through the town, diverging from the roadside and through the sparse spread of dark, snow-laden trees, boots crunching through the thick layer of snow and leaving deep footprints in his wake. He paused only when he crested a small incline to stare down upon the frozen river that was barely wider than the single lane of a road.

He really did look like he was dancing. The young man – a man to Arthur's eyes, though he couldn't have been much older than his sister Morgana – spun and twirled in the slowly thickening fall of snow. Tall and slender, he seemed almost too skinny, and it was only when Arthur stared at him in silence, immobilised for a moment longer, that he realised what was wrong with the sight.

The young man wore no jacket. A thin black sweater, threadbare and stretched, was all that he had to stave off the chill of winter, one sleeve torn off at the elbow and the other fraying at the wrist cuff. The black trousers he wore would have provided little enough protection too, shucked as they were to his knees, but more than that he wore no shoes. Not even a pair of socks, his pale feet as white as the ice beneath his toes.

White and black. That was the impression Arthur was given of the young man that spun and twirled in the fluttering shower of snowflakes. Black of clothes, of slightly overlong hair peppered by the flakes falling from above, and yet his skin the colour of the snow that surrounded him, almost faintly blue for its paleness. He must have been freezing, a detached part of Arthur's mind registered, and yet he didn't seem to care, turning and jumping on his toes as his arms stretched around himself as though to embrace the winter night.

Except that he wasn't dancing. No, he wasn't _just_ dancing. The longer Arthur stared the more he realised; the young man's feet brushed the ground and he tiptoed across the frozen river, but only briefly before he leapt away from it as though teasing it with his touch. He didn't just dance. He _flew_. It was impossible, a part of Arthur knew, and yet he didn't care. The man seemed to dance not just upon the frozen water but upon the very wind itself.

Arthur had never considered anything beautiful before that moment. He wouldn't realise for some years the very truth of that thought.

A long moment of staring passed, of wide-eyes and captivation, before Arthur even realised that the laughter hadn't come from the young man at all. That he was silent even for his smile, and that bubbling mirth instead echoed from a second figure that he hadn't noticed at first, a little way along the river as he was. The boy must have been from the town, looked barely five years old though it was difficult to tell for the cap pulled down his forehead, the heavy jacket that made him almost as wide as he was tall. He was spinning around in dizzying circles himself, panting in excitement enough to make his cheeks appear visibly flushed even from the distance Arthur stood.

There was no grace in the boy's motions, no finesse or beauty in the way he stumbled in circles, slipping on the ice and flapping his arms overhead as though to catch the snow. Arthur didn't quite know why he was excited at first. To him, the young man and the boy appeared nothing if not opposing characters glorying in the sharp chill of encroaching night. But Arthur couldn't help but stare, captivating by the dancing, by the _flying_ of the black and white man, so he saw.

He'd always wanted to fly.

Arthur saw when the man swept towards the boy and spun around him in an arc that didn't turn the boy's head almost as though he didn't even see him. He saw as the man raised his arms over the boy's head and fluttered his long, slender fingers as though playing a piano in the air, a wide smile drawing across his lips. And he saw those fingers rain down a sudden, swirling storm of snowflakes like powdered icing sugar atop the boy's head, heard as the boy gasped in delight and shrieked another bout of laughter before leaping into the air with renewed vigour in an attempt to catch the conjured shower.

Arthur didn't know how the young man had done it. He didn't understand how that was possible, but couldn't shake himself to question, to move towards or away from the anomaly. He could only stare as the man spun in another flying twirl, skating around the boy – really, the boy didn't seem to notice him at all – and drew another curtain of dusty snow in his wake like the shower of water behind a jet boat. The boy laughed and chased right after him, mittened hands clapping at the air in an attempt to grab the train that followed in the man's wake.

It was captivating to watch, both the man and his flying dance and the strange clouds of snow that he conjure with his fingers, from every step on the air. Arthur couldn't look away, even as the night darkened, even as a detached part of his mind knew he should leave to get back to the cabin because his mother would worry.

But he didn't move, and that was why he saw it happen.

Even in the darkness it was unmistakable. The moment the boy slid into the centre of the river, stumbling to his knees, and the crack of fractured ice that snapped through the air. The boy wasn't as stupid and carefree as he'd seemed, Arthur saw. He knew what such a sound meant as all children up in the northern reaches must have. From the top of the incline, Arthur could just make out the sudden widening of his eyes, the vanquishing of joy from his face as he sprawled on hands and knees on the ice, frozen in sudden fear. Another crack followed a bare second after.

Arthur didn't move, felt frozen himself as though he were watching a horror movie unfold and couldn't draw his gaze away. The young man noticed, too. He noticed and with steps that didn't quite touch the ice he crossed the river towards where the boy lay. The boy, who was now visibly trembling with each successive cracking and snapping sound that ensued. He didn't appear to notice the man as he stopped before him, as he cocked his head and peered down at him as though curious for the sight, for the terror that tangibly radiated from the child.

He didn't move to help, however. Not when the boy uttered a faint sob. Not when a particularly fierce curl of wind whistled over the surface of the lake and seemed to only double the sound of splintering ice. He didn't move a hand as the boy finally raked together the courage to attempt to move, to push himself into motion and scramble to the edge of the river.

He didn't make it. He barely moved an inch before the river caved beneath him With a cry swallowed by the following splash, he fell through the water.

Arthur still couldn't move. He still stared at the river, at the jagged black hole that was all that was left of the boy, fallen into frigid water beneath disappear, to be dragged upon whatever currents had snatched at him. He should call for help, should run to the nearest house and explain in his garbled Swedish what he'd witnessed.

But he didn't. Arthur didn't move, could only watch as the young man cocked his head back in the opposite direction and regarded the hole in the ice ponderingly, as though he'd only just happened upon it and hadn't just seen the boy disappear, sinking to his death. He raised a finger to his chin and tapped as though thoughtful, pursing his lips slightly. Then…

Even at the distance he stood Arthur could see the faint upwelling of gold surface in his eyes as the man dropped to a crouch. He saw the glowing illumination spill forth as he extended a hand over the icy hole, his long fingers fluttering and swirling as though stirring a bowl of water. Arthur saw as the icy particles descended from his fingers like a gossamer curtain, as the edges of the ice hole crackled and extended and slowly then rapidly grew to consume the opening, vanishing any trace of the break in the ice. Within moments there was nothing to suggest a hole had existed, that a boy had fallen through and had –

Had drowned.

Arthur stared. He was stunned, but not for the right reasons. He stared because it suddenly struck him. Eyes blown wide but not in terror but awe, without his intention, words slipped from Arthur's lips. "That's magic…" he breathed.

The young man heard him. He must have heard him, even quiet as Arthur's words were, for it was only then that he raised his gaze from his handiwork and turned towards Arthur. Even through the darkening evening, the darkness illuminated faintly by the surrounding snow, Arthur could see the residual gold in his eyes. _That_ was magic too. It had to be.

Arthur knew that magic wasn't real. Or at least he had until that moment. Now he knew for certain that all of his father's sighs and exasperated proclamations of otherwise was false. He _knew_ it.

The young man was rising in an instant, in another was sweeping towards Arthur in rapid strides, almost a run and yet not touching the ground. Arthur knew he didn't touch the ground for not a footprint marred the flat perfection of the snow where he stepped. He ascended the slight hill and paused just before Arthur, tilting his head slightly just as he had peered at the hole in the ice.

Arthur could see him better up close. He saw him and with that realisation that he didn't quite understand he perceived beauty all over again. It was a different kind of beautiful that that which the rest of the world claimed, wasn't the sort of handsome that Arthur's father told him boys were supposed to have. It was almost unearthly.

The young man had wide eyes, dark in the night yet not quite black. His eyelashes were flecked with snow, painting them with spots of silver, and they blinked down their own snowy shower onto his cheeks that were sharper even that those of Arthur's sister. One thin eyebrow quirked slightly, a slight smile touching his lips, and Arthur knew immediately that this man, this magical, flying person – he was the sort that knew how to have fun. How to find enjoyment in the quiet town where _nothing_ happened.

Even if that fun did seem to include killing a boy.

"How did you do that?" Arthur found himself asking. His eyes flickered briefly towards the flat surface of the river. He knew he should be more concerned about the boy, about the child who had fallen through the ice barely a minute ago. His mother always gave a faint, sad little mew whenever she heard about lost or dead children on the news, his father shaking his head as though accusing someone for letting such happen. Even Morgana appeared regretful when she beheld such stories.

But Arthur had other things on his mind. Other _magical_ things. Drowned boys hardly even touched his thoughts.

The young man stared down at him for a long moment. He was tall, maybe even as tall as Arthur's father, but Uther Pendragon had never smiled like that before. Not the slow, spreading smile that widened until it brightened his whole face, impressing delighted dimples into his cheeks. "You can see me?"

Arthur blinked, confused yet just a little captivated all over again as he stared up at him. "What?"

The man pointed to himself, tapping his chest. A flourish of snowflakes swirled like a blooming flower from the touching finger. "Me. You can see me?"

Arthur found himself nodding slowly. "Of course I can. Why would you…?"

He trailed off as the young man's smile spread impossibly wider, as he gave a little jump that swept him into the air until he was hanging suspended a full foot off the ground. He bent over slightly, over Arthur, until Arthur had to tilt his head back to look at him properly, before spinning in the snow slightly and touching down once more. Arthur turned to follow his movement; the sight of the man walking on air was one he wouldn't miss even for a second. His eyes only dropped as the man reached a hand towards him, tugging at the scarf around his neck.

"That's wonderful," He said, grin still spread wide. "That's splendid! And I – I love your scarf."

Arthur, turning to follow the man's passage once more and mouth dropping open to reply, paused in confusion. "You what?"

"Your scarf." The man tugged on at the scarf once more indicatively, seeming only the more delighted for it. "Red's my favourite colour, you know, but most people don't like me touching their things. Not when they can't see my. They just brush me away."

"Most people can't see you?" Arthur asked.

The man shook his head, and, eyes still caught on Arthur's scarf as though it was something wondrous, drift a step backwards. Entwining his fingers behind him, he gave a strolling twirl around Arthur once more. Arthur turned in place to follow his movements. "No, not usually. Some people do occasionally, but… not for a very long time. They just feel my snow."

"You're snow?" Arthur asked, confused.

The man nodded, his gaze finally rising to meet Arthur's. He raised a hand before him, cupping his fingers, and with a distinct flicker of gold in his dark eyes once more, a swirl of snow appeared and settled into a little heap in his palm. It was almost the same colour as his skin, and must have been freezing upon his bare fingers, but the man didn't appear to care. "My snow," he said indicatively.

Arthur sighed out a puff of white smoke in wonder as he stared wide-eyed at the manifestation. "That's so cool…"

"Yes, it is very cool," the man nodded sincerely. "Very, very cool. That's the best part about snow."

It took Arthur a moment to realise that the young man spoke more of temperature than of awe, but he disregarded it a moment later for more important questioning. Not about the boy – the disappeared boy had fled his thoughts almost entirely. "Who are you?" He asked, turning once more as the man strolled around him. Arthur's eyes followed the motion of his arm as the handful of snow was cast into the air, only to flutter downwards in particles in a way that it shouldn't have been able to after being so condensed in the palm of a warm hand. "And how do you do that?"

"I've always been able to do it," the man said, his tone light and nonchalant as though unfazed by the impossibility he so easily cast. "As for who I am… I'm called lots of different names."

"Lots of names?"

The man nodded, then shook his head with a smile as though ridiculing the notion, sending a scattering swirl of snow into the air as he spun with the motion. His smile was slightly rueful as he glanced back towards Arthur. "I've had people call me Jack Frost. The old, old people used to call me Ullr, though they have stories about that person that aren't about me. I've also been called Old Man Winter, although," his lips quivered slightly as though on the verge of bubbling with laughter. "I don't know where they got that idea from. Last I checked I wasn't an old man, even if I have been around for a while."

Arthur didn't know what any of that meant. He vaguely knew the name Jack Frost from a movie he'd watched when he was younger, but couldn't quite recall who it was. "Then what do you like being called?"

The man paused in floating step, blinking wide eyes down at Arthur. "What do I like to be called?"

Arthur nodded. "Or what were you called first? What's your actual name?"

The young man stared curiously for a moment. A finger slipped to the single cuff of his jumper and tugged it idly, encrusting the fabric with a touch of white ice. Arthur couldn't help but stare, his attention only drawn away as the man spoke once more. "I don't really have a _first_ name, but if I could choose… probably Merlin."

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, confused. He knew of 'Merlin' about as well as he did Jack Frost. "Why that name?"

Merlin pursed his lips slightly before smiling overly brightly. Arthur was beginning to suspect, however, that there wasn't all that much 'overly' about it; it seemed to simply be his normal smile. "Well, I probably had the most fun when people knew me as Merlin. A lot of people could see me then because a lot of people had magic. Of course, I'm different to you humans but it was a lot more fun to be around then. Did you know I used to be the advisor to a king?" He laughed heartily as he pranced a little in the air as though the thought amused him, though there was a touch of fondness to the sound.

Arthur only shook his head, baffled as he stared up at him. "Different to humans? So you're not a human at all?"

Merlin shook his head, grinning. "Of course not." He didn't elaborate, however, baffling Arthur all the more. Only for Arthur to be forcibly distracted from such confusion as Merlin started forward in a springing step and peered into his face once more. "But you're the interesting one, that you can even see me. How odd. I wonder if that means something?" He tapped his chin with a finger again once more, before visibly discarding his confusing thoughtfulness to speak instead. "What's your name, little boy?"

In any other circumstances, Arthur would have been more than a little affronted at being called 'little boy', but he was thoroughly distracted from any such thoughts by the overwhelming and slightly awe-inspiring confrontation. Merlin was… he was strange. And yet something told Arthur that he was special. Very special, and perhaps even for more than his magic. He replied immediately, almost couldn't help himself. "Arthur," he said. "My name's Arthur."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, his eyebrows shooting upwards as though he was surprised. They he danced a step backwards in a thin puff of thin snowflakes, throwing his head back and loosed a shout of heartfelt laughter once more as though Arthur had told some sort of wondrous joke. He tipped his head back towards him with his wide smile spread once more. "Is it really?"

"Of – of course," Arthur said. He couldn't even bring himself to be indignant.

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head and turned in a circle with arms spread. Snow scattered with each drift of his arm. "You're the second Arthur I've met that could see me, you know?"

"Really?"

"Really." Merlin hummed, shooting him another smile over his shoulder. "Yes, how interesting. This should be fun. Would you like to be my friend, Arthur?"

Arthur didn't have to think about a reply. This Merlin, whoever he was, whatever he was, was interesting. It didn't matter that he hadn't helped a drowning boy. It didn't matter that he danced on the air and cast magical snowflakes from nothing in a way that Arthur's father would surely have disapproved of, would have called _wrong_ and _evil_. Arthur nodded fervently, and was only further gratified by the beaming smile that Merlin afforded him in return.

"What about that boy?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, gesturing towards river over his shoulder. "Was he your friend too?"

Merlin glanced towards the river. "That boy? Of course not. He couldn't even see me. What kind of a friend would that be?"

Arthur blinked back towards him. "Who was he, then? What's going to happen to him?"

Merlin only shrugged as though Arthur had asked him a simple and uninteresting question that held little merit to answer. He didn't appear regretful, nor the slightest bit repentant, for what had happened at all. "I don't know. He fell through and he's gone now. Not much for it."

"Why didn't you help him?" Arthur asked, more curious than accusing.

Merlin shrugged once more, spinning on his foot and dragging his foot across the snow. It actually sketched a line, a perfect arc like the curve of a rainbow, but in a mound rather than a runnel. "I couldn't. Can't touch people, you know." Then he glanced sharply up to Arthur, tipping his head in that curious way that made him look like a bird. "But then, I haven't been able to talk to anyone for a long time either. I can talk to you though. I wonder…"

Merlin swirled forwards in a slight gust of chilling wind and Arthur took an unconscious step back. Not far, however, and when Merlin reached a hand towards him it wasn't in a stretch. A single finger, so cold it felt as though Merlin had been swimming in ice water himself, pressed against the end of Arthur's nose.

The smile that followed, that stretched across Merlin's face and lit it up even in the smothering darkness, was radiant. Arthur could almost feel it beaming upon him. Merlin bent down slightly, dropping his hands onto his knees so that he was eye-to-eye with Arthur. "This is fantastic," he said before spinning on his heel and starting off into the snow. He moved so quickly – he was flying again, beautifully and impossibly flying – that he disappeared into the darkness as though he'd abruptly disappeared. Only his echoing words called behind him in memory of his presence. "I'll see you tomorrow, Arthur. We can do something fun!"

Arthur stared after him for a long moment before he could move. He had the thought that he'd just met someone wonderful. Strange, and perhaps a little terrifying, but certainly wonderful.

He took himself back to the cabin after that. Arthur didn't want to but he knew he should, and besides, Merlin had disappeared anyway. He couldn't wait for the next day, his excitement giving speed and his own sort of flight to his feet as he raced along the dark, streetlamp-lit road.

Arthur stumbled through the door with a huff and a flurry of snow, the snowfall itself having only thickened with his return until it was a veritable downpour. As soon as Arthur stepped inside, it was to hear his mother's voice crack in a sharp, over-loud call. "Arthur? Arthur, is that you?"

Arthur didn't get a chance to reply, not through his heavy breathing and abrupt shivering as he closed the door, before his mother appeared from the living room of the cabin. Her brow was wrinkled as she stepped into the hallway in a mixture of concern and anger, strands of blonde hair popping free of her bun as though she'd been running her hands through it. She exhaled sharply as she started towards him. Arthur could already hear the scolding in her tone before she stopped before him, grasping his shoulders and squeezing tight enough that he could feel her fingers like claws through the thickness of his jacket.

"What have I _told_ you about getting home before dark," she said, and despite the reprimand thick in her tone Arthur could hear the worry too.

Arthur didn't like to worry his parents. He especially didn't like to worry his mother, because she always got upset more easily than his father did, and it was _annoying_ when she got upset. But that evening he wasn't quite so regretful. He'd seen something special, met someone exciting, someone _magical_ , and he'd made a friend who was the most interesting thing that he'd ever met on their holiday trips to Sweden. Certainly more interesting that the Aurora Borealis; Arthur saw the northern lights every year and they weren't anything special. Not to him.

He didn't comment as his mother drew him into the dining room-kitchen, muttering and scolding as they went. He didn't complain as she pushed him perhaps a little more forcibly than was necessary into a seat and swept toward the kitchen counter in the direction of the kettle. Arthur simply rode out her worried anger, allowing it to ease in her own time.

Which it did. Eventually.

"Your nose it very red," his mother finally said when something less that a frown settled upon her brow. She bustled around him, her small frame seeming larger for her dithering, and clicked her tongue before setting a cup of cocoa on the table before Arthur. She had already ordered him to take off his gloves and jacket. "See, this is what I worry about, Arthur. Are you coming down with a cold now?"

Arthur reached a hand up to his nose, unconsciously pressing at the very point that Merlin had touched before. He found himself nodding slightly at his mother's words. "Maybe," he mumbled.

He thought it might have been a different kind of cold, however, and this one wasn't so bad as all that.

* * *

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you liked the first chapter (liked? A bit morbid, yes...?). Please leave a review to let me know your thoughts. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

_Arthur Pendragon: Thirteen Years Old_

 _Slightly less unwilling holiday participant and best friend of Merlin, the man of Winter._

* * *

"Sorry I'm late. Mum was kicking up a fuss about me wanting to go for a walk. Again."

At the sound of Arthur's voice as he trudged through the snow towards the river where he and Merlin always met, Merlin turned towards him. What he'd been doing until then Arthur didn't know, but whatever it was Merlin immediately disregarded in the wide, familiar smile that spread across his face. His eyes seemed to glow like blue will o' wisps and as he leapt into his flying strides towards Arthur, a flurry of snowflakes bursting into the air in his wake.

He crashed into Arthur a moment later, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. Arthur felt his breath rush from his chest and not only for the squeeze that pushed it from his lungs; Merlin was cold, icily cold, and everywhere they touched Arthur felt himself shiver.

Not that he minded. Arthur hated - _hated_ \- being hugged by his mother, by Morgana when she teased him with a hug that was more the squeeze of a predatory python. He supposed he was like his father in that regard, for Uther Pendragon didn't like hugs either. He put up with them, from his wife, from his teasing daughter as she deliberately provoked him, but Arthur could tell from his expression, from the hardness and the flatness, the slight clenching of his jaw, that it was a struggle.

Arthur was exactly the same and couldn't stand to be hugged. Except when it was Merlin who did it, that was. For some reason, Merlin was different. Maybe because it wasn't teasing, wasn't smothering, and didn't hold any underlying demand. When Merlin hugged Arthur, it was in sheer joy, affection, and excitement to see him. Merlin was like that; he was almost always excited, almost always happy. Even more so when he'd experimented with being able to actually touch Arthur, had realised that he could touch him and have Arthur feel that touch as more than a chilling sweep of a breeze or a flutter of settling snow.

It was cold but Arthur didn't mind. If it made Merlin happy then Arthur was happy too. He'd let the person who had become one of his best, if not his greatest, of friends do pretty much anything he wanted.

Three years Arthur had known Merlin. Three years in which he'd spent every evening of the two weeks he holidayed in Sweden in Merlin's company. Merlin made the entire trip worthwhile, and Arthur was becoming almost eager for those weeks at the end of every year. Eager even if it was only so he could meet his friend.

Merlin was fun. He was bubbly and bright and warm despite the fact that even walking alongside him made Arthur feel a shivering chill seep into him that pervaded his clothes no matter how many layers he wore. Merlin showed him around the town into regions that weren't expressly 'the town' - a little cave that held a clutch of foxes for the winter, a grove of snow-laden trees with hanging branches creating a closed curtain around the opening, a little pond that didn't crack when Arthur stepped on it to follow Merlin in his ice-skating sweeps across the ice. Arthur always followed Merlin, even with his memory of how he'd met him and the boy who had disappeared in a crack of ice.

It wasn't Merlin's fault, Arthur didn't think, but though he was Merlin's friend while the boy wasn't, Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin would be any more ready to haul him from his death should he fall through to the water beneath. Merlin was simply like that. Arthur had gradually come to understand that Merlin didn't quite grasp what it meant to die, that the boy had drowned. He didn't seem regretful either, because such a possibility couldn't affect him. For whatever reason, even though he knew it was wrong, that disregard rubbed off on Arthur too. He barely even recalled the boy at all.

Merlin wasn't human, that much Arthur realised. And just the same, Arthur was growing to speculate that he couldn't die, either.

It wasn't just that he was magical, that he could conjure snow with a flutter of his fingertips and a flash of golden eyes. It wasn't even that he could fly, though Arthur had always been in awe of that more than anything with a ever-growing sense of longing. Merlin acted differently to everyone that Arthur had ever met, had an unerring curiosity that Arthur couldn't help but adopt alongside him and a nearly constant desire for pleasure-seeking that usually resulted in them both running themselves ragged and creating mountains of snowy shapes and snow-storms through the forest surrounding the town. Or at least Arthur ran himself ragged; Merlin didn't seem to tire in quite the same way, something that only added to Arthur's speculations that he wasn't human.

That and the fact that he didn't age. At first, Arthur had speculated that Merlin was the same age as his sister, perhaps of the age to be finishing school had he been in attendance or perhaps just a little younger. But while Morgana still grew slightly taller, grew a little older, Merlin... didn't. That much Arthur had realised. He still appeared as exactly the same young man that Arthur had first met.

Far from finding it disconcerting, Arthur thought it was fascinating. He didn't question it, just as he didn't question how he was the only one who seemed able to see Merlin at all. It didn't matter, not to him.

Everything about spending time with Merlin made him happy. That they didn't spend time talking about more than the superficial except on the off occasion because they didn't _have_ to, that Merlin let Arthur decide what he wanted to do each afternoon and didn't begrudge him having to leave for the cabin because it got too dark, even if Arthur resented it himself. Merlin simply always seemed happy to see him. Always.

When he pulled away from Arthur, it was to turn his wide smile down upon him once more. He was taller than Arthur, but less so than he had been the previous year; Arthur must have had more of a growth spurt than he'd realised. With one long, pale finger, he pressed Arthur's nose with a fond wrinkle of his own before dropping his hand to tug with his usual idle gesture at the red scarf around Arthur's neck. "That's alright. I was waiting for you. Were you maybe not going to come this year?"

Arthur sniffed at the sudden iciness at the tip of his nose, at that slight sting that he knew would turn red in no time at all. His mother would likely worry as she always did, but Arthur didn't mind. He kind of liked the cold if it was Merlin's. Shaking his head, Arthur smiled in return. He'd been in a poor mood since they'd begun their holiday, but Merlin's presence soothed his slump a little. "Of course I'd come. Even if Mum and Dad didn't want to I'd come anyway."

"Are you allowed to do that?" Merlin asked curiously, cocking his head in that way he did when he didn't quite understand the situation. "I didn't think children were able to travel without their parents."

Merlin didn't much care about rules and regulations. He didn't care about expectations and the 'proper' way of doing things. He didn't even seem to put much merit on the consideration that children, as less experienced than parents, needed constant supervision and protection. And yet Merlin had clearly picked up enough from Arthur in recent years that he felt the urge to question it. He'd done just that enough times from an opposing stance on an argument. Arthur couldn't count the number of times he'd raised a confused eyebrow and asked "But why?" when Arthur told him his mother had requested something of him, or his father demanded it. Arthur had to admit that he'd grown to question a little bit himself as a by-product of that.

Shrugging with more casualness than he would experience if he really did as he'd claimed, Arthur shook his head. "It doesn't matter if I'm allowed to or not. Of course I'd come. What, and not visit you?"

Merlin's grin returned two-fold, and Arthur couldn't help but smile in return. Merlin's smile was infectious like that, down to the slight crinkling of his eyes and the waves of energy that seemed to radiate from him as a result. He was always just so happy. Almost always, anyway.

"Then I guess thank you," Merlin replied, and as if in a show of gratitude he stepped backward slightly and, eyes flashing golden, clapped his hands in rapid succession before him until a small storm of snowflakes erupted in a miniature, whirling tornado. With a wave of his hand, he sent it spinning towards Arthur, where it curled around him and crept icy fingers into his clothes. Arthur shivered but smiled in delight as the conjured wind brushed his skin. He'd confessed his affection for the feeling to Merlin in the past, how soothing and strangely freeing he found the wind, and Merlin had remembered that. He might be carefree, careless of much he observed, but that he remembered.

Turning in a spinning circle like the dancer that he'd first appeared to be, feet off the ground as they almost always were in his strange kind of flight, Merlin interlaced his fingers behind him and glanced at Arthur over his shoulder. "I'm glad you got here before it got too dark. I've got something to show you that I think you'd like. Do you want to see it?"

Arthur was nodding before he'd paused to think about it. Did he want to see something that Merlin wished to show him? Of course he did. His awe and faint worship for his friend surpassed that which most boys held for older young men, the unconscious respect for a more experienced and more knowledgeable shadow of what could be his possible future self. Merlin was _different_ , but he still induced awe. Awe and the urge to follow him. "Where is it?"

Winking at Arthur, Merlin raised a finger to his lips and puffed out a little fog of air with an audible "Shush". "It's a surprise. Just on the other side of town."

Arthur felt a thrill of excitement dart through him, but suppressed it with a frown a moment later. "Through town? Are you alright with that?"

Merlin pursed his lips before shrugging. "It's only a little ways." Then he turned and with his usual skipping step that would in anyone else his age appear strange but on Merlin simply _wasn't_ started off in the direction Arthur had come. Arthur hastened to follow behind.

It was a testament to how much Merlin wanted to show Arthur whatever it was that he chose to pass directly through the town, because Merlin didn't like it. He didn't like the town at all. For someone so happy-go-lucky, so flooded with joy and enthusiasm so much of the time, he turned into a dark shadow of himself when they stepped into the midst of human civilisation. Not humans themselves, of course, because Merlin liked them - he found them 'strangely fascinating and very odd' he'd told Arthur, which in Arthur's opinion was a fairly apt description of Merlin himself - but he didn't like the constructions them made. Or more correctly, what those constructions entailed.

Arthur fell into step alongside where Merlin didn't really step himself - at least not in the traditional sense of the term - and sought to distract his friend with conversation. He explained how different high school was to primary school, describing everything that had happened to him since he'd last seen Merlin. He spoke of his friends, his fencing lessons, how his father had taken him to see an air show because Arthur adored seeing the planes in flight and wanted nothing more than to fly when he grew up. Merlin did see distracted, at least briefly, and even grew animated about the planes though he admitted he couldn't quite understand Arthur's longing for flight. Of course he wouldn't, for as far as Arthur could tell, he'd always possessed such an ability himself.

Merlin was effectively distracted until they reached the first narrow road that passed directly through town, ice that adorned bitumen paled into a milky grey. Merlin paused in step, and it was a sign of his distress that his feet actually touched the ground, planting his soles firmly. Merlin only ever stopped flying when he was forcibly grounded by something. Most often it was distress.

Arthur drew his eyes across the road and pressed his lips tightly together. He knew what was the problem, and despite himself and his knowledge of the purpose of the salt that turned the smoothness bumpy, he couldn't help but feel affronted on Merlin's behalf. "At least it's not that thick today," he offered in placation.

Merlin was drawing his eyes along the road, a frown settling on his brow as his lips thinned. Any hint of his smile had disappeared completely as though to even consider smiling was suddenly impossible for him. Merlin was like that; he was happy, excitable, and enthusiastic, but when he was upset it seemed to overwhelm him. The sharp features of his face seemed to sharpen further in tightness, his fingers curling at his sides and a ripple of renewed ice rolling in waves from his ankles to spread across ground as though to remove the damage that had been wrought. Arthur swore he could almost hear the thoughts passing through his mind: _Why do they always have to destroy my ice?_

Arthur didn't even want to think about the time last year that a group of teenagers from the city down south had set up a bonfire nearby. Merlin had been furious for days after and the town had certainly suffered a chill for it.

Arthur knew why. Logically, he knew why there was salt on the road, but he had to admit that he'd developed a significantly more profound protectiveness of the gift of winter than he'd possessed before befriending Merlin. Arthur found himself frowning at the salt himself, reaching a foot forward to scrape a cleaning swipe through the thin coating. "Can you fix it?" He asked.

Merlin nodded curtly. "I'll fix it tonight," he said, before stepping forth with a deliberately crushing foot. His footprints left thick, icy stepping-stones in his wake. Arthur knew that by tomorrow morning the road would be a slick slide once more. Possibly even thicker than usual if Merlin was in the mood.

Not for the first time, and for reasons other than that he very much enjoyed his company, Arthur was very happy he was Merlin's friend. He didn't want to think what an enemy would suffer, or worse, someone who favoured summer over winter. Such sacrilege would surely by horrifying. He hastened to follow after Merlin once more.

Merlin walked the whole way through town, his feet actually touching the ground and leaving his icy footprints behind him in seeping blotches. Or at least he walked across town to the other side, leaving the line of houses and the heinously salted road behind them. Arthur picked up his step to fall alongside Merlin as Merlin turned another frown upon the snow scraped off the path and shunted to the edges as though to do so was a sin in itself. As soon as they stepped onto the blanket of untouched snow stretching out the other side of the town, clean and pristine, Merlin visibly brightened and in moments he was springing through the air once more.

Arthur was warmed to see him shake off his momentary sombre spell. Or perhaps 'cooled' would have been a better description. Arthur found that he preferred the cold nowadays anyway.

It wasn't far that Merlin led him, skirting along a self-made path vaguely parallel to the town in what Arthur registered about halfway there was the direction of his old lookout point. He still visited there often, during the day when he had nothing else to do because Merlin rarely surfaced before the sun had nearly set.

"I go up here sometimes," Arthur said as the modest cliff came into view. It wasn't much of a cliff at all, really, Arthur had come to realise more and more in the past few years. It would still hurt if he fell down, certainly, but it was likely his younger perception that saw it for a greater height.

Merlin flashed him a smile over his shoulder. "I know."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, glancing towards him. "You know? How do you know? I always go during the day –"

"You leave your footprints in the snow."

Arthur blinked. "You can read my footprints?" He asked. He felt that warming coolness once more for some reason as Merlin nodded idly and continued onwards. Past the lookout point, Arthur realised. _So I guess that wasn't what he wanted to show me?_

"I can usually read anyone who steps through my snow is," Merlin explained and Arthur barely had time to feel regretful for the generalisation before he continued. "But you I can recognise more. I know yours better. And besides, you never mess up my snow all willy-nilly."

Arthur found himself smiling as Merlin glanced back to face him again, spinning on the air so that he rose just a little higher than Arthur once more to float on his own winter winds. He took a dancing turn around Arthur and cast a shower of snow in his wake before falling into step at his side once more. Or into flight.

It wasn't much further before they stopped. Or until they slowed, anyway, for slipping through the trees, following the line of the cliff as it was, Arthur was the only one who paused as he saw the opening before him. Merlin swept forwards, alighting onto the ground once more in the opening of what looked to be another sort of cliff itself, one Arthur had never seen before. He turned back towards Arthur with arms outstretched and grin broad once more. "I wanted to show you this," he called to him, raising his arms and his eyes glowing in their tell-tale gold. "I thought you might like it."

A flurry of his snow sprung forth as if from nowhere, sweeping through Merlin's fingers and spinning around him as though each flake were a loving dancer of its own. And that was what showed Arthur what it was _really_ about. The wind tore the conjured snow in a fierce motion, almost vicious, as it captured Merlin's words and stole them almost before they could reach Arthur's ears. Arthur couldn't help but start forwards with a quick step, breaking through the thin line of trees that tapered at this new cliff-edge.

The wind was fierce. It blew a gale that whistled into Arthur's ears, immediately tearing at his jacket and attempting to rip his scarf from his neck, freezing his ears beneath his hat. It was sharp, slapping at his cheeks, and strong enough to rock him on his feet. It nearly tore the very air from Arthur's lungs.

A brief glance around Arthur showed him why, why it was better even than his lookout, why such a perch was afforded such a glorious, ferocious wind. It projected like a finger from the cliff, a curving extension that stuck out distinctly further than the rest of the cliff's edge and without the cover of trees was left solely exposed to the elements. It overlooked the lake stretching smooth and flat and white-black beneath him, and Arthur wondered how he'd even missed such a point. It must have been further around the lake from his lookout than he'd realised.

Arthur absolutely loved it.

Feeling his smile widen, glancing up at Merlin at his side to share the moment, Arthur spread his own arms wide before closing his eyes. The wind buffeted him, seeming to nearly trip him from the edge, but he didn't open them. He doubted Merlin would catch him should he fall, had said that he wouldn't be able to help Arthur 'fly' when Arthur had asked years ago, but that didn't matter. Arthur loved to simply _feel_ it.

He didn't know why. There was no incident in Arthur's past that had induced such a love in him, such a love of the strength of the air, the beauty of flight, the _freedom_ of it and the luxury of the smooth caresses that was nothing like the touches his mother placed on his head or the jostling Morgana afforded him. His father had commented once that perhaps it was merely an embodiment of his nature, the itchiness of his feet and desire to be constantly moving that was, in reality, most likely induced by his parents themselves with their frequent shift in locale.

Arthur didn't know. He didn't care, either. It shouldn't need an explanation, such a wondrous feeling, so Arthur never sought one. He simply let himself enjoy the moment and let his cares drift away with each passing touch.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Merlin's voice, the quietness of it nearly silenced completely by the wailing wind, drew Arthur to open his eyes. He glanced up towards him once more, met the curious expectancy of Merlin's gaze that blinked guilelessly back at him, and felt his eyebrow rise. "What?"

Merlin turned around in a slow circle, drawing his feet in an arc through his snow yet as always building a heap of ice in his wake rather than a runnel. He swayed backwards, leaning out over the cliff and letting the wind hold him, and the gale dragged at his hair until it nearly masked his face entirely. He glanced back at Arthur through the mess of his fringe and shrugged. "You didn't seem very happy when you first showed up today. Only for a little bit, mind, but I hope you feel better now."

Arthur stared at him in silence for a long moment, distracted even from the glory of the wind. Merlin had noticed that? Arthur had forced himself to shunt his disgruntlement aside when he went to see his friend and he thought he'd managed to do so fairly well, but apparently Merlin had noticed. It felt… nice that he had; Merlin didn't seem like the sort of person to understand sobriety, seemed to jump between emotions like the wind he so often danced upon. Even when upset for the disrespect of his snow and ice, he would easily shrug off his concerns when they were out of sight. Arthur hadn't even known he understood what 'feeling better' meant. Contentedness was something of a human emotion, he had come to realise. Perhaps magical people like Merlin didn't feel that?

But apparently they recognised it. Or maybe that was just Merlin being exceptional, being other, once more. As if to add to that, Merlin continued. "What happened? Why were you unhappy?"

There was genuine curiosity in Merlin's tone, as though he couldn't fathom a reason for such unhappiness. And maybe he really couldn't; Arthur didn't know if Merlin even felt happiness in the same way he did. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had.

Arthur was not one to share his feelings. He didn't cave when his mother prodded him, or when Morgana demanded he 'open up for once, you little prat' in the lovingly affectionate way she had. But Merlin was different, and Arthur felt genuinely eager to share with him.

Pressing his lips together, Arthur turned his gaze out over the cliff's edge, towards the spread of the lake far below – truly, it was quite far, this drop – and the distant trees on the lower shoreline. The sharp wind stung his eyes as he squinted and shrugged awkwardly. "It was nothing huge," he began.

"Define something 'huge'," Merlin said, and Arthur could hear the touch of a smile in his voice. He was likely sincerely curious about that, too, but Arthur took it for the rhetorical question that most would pose it as.

He sighed in a huff, a flicker of his earlier annoyance resurfacing. "My sister's boyfriend came with us this year."

"Is that bad?" Merlin asked.

"It is. It's really bad, because he's _such_ an idiot." Arthur folded his arms tightly across his chest. "Why did he have to come anyway?" He asked glancing towards Merlin.

He didn't really expect an answer, but Merlin tipped his head and gazed at him sidelong. "Well," he said slowly, ponderously, "I suppose she might want to spend time with him?" He said the words like a question, as if he wasn't really sure himself. Arthur had never talked to him about any of this before, about boyfriends or any sort of relationships, but though he'd offered his friendship to Arthur himself, Arthur was sceptical as to whether he even knew what that meant. He'd made a good friend, but really understanding what a friend was…

Arthur frowned as he turned back out towards the lake. "Why does she like to be with him? He's an idiot, and he's annoying, and he thinks he's so great. Mum says he might just be different with Morgana, but that doesn't matter."

"Is he mean to you?" Merlin asked, a touch of… something in his voice.

Arthur grumbled wordlessly under his breath before shaking his head. "Not exactly, no. He's just – he's just an idiot. I don't even know why Morgana would _want_ a boyfriend." _And certainly not one like that_ , Arthur added to himself, shooting a hateful thought to the jerk who, in that moment, was probably lounging in the couch chair that Arthur _always_ sat in, just as he had the previous night.

Damn but it annoyed Arthur. That was _Arthur's_ couch.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur thrust the thought aside. He'd told himself he wouldn't think about it, would just enjoy playing and exploring with Merlin that afternoon like they always did. Glancing back towards Merlin alongside him, he caught the hint of Merlin's smile before he turned in one of his usual slow spins. Merlin was always moving, always graceful in his motions, as though he couldn't stand still. He reminded Arthur of the snowflakes he conjured seemingly without thought. It was oddly soothing to watch.

"You don't have a boyfriend, then?" Merlin asked, pausing in his turn as he faced Arthur once more.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Most of the time boys have girlfriends," he said.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" Merlin corrected himself. "I've seen lots of people with those, and they kiss each another and hold hands. It looks nice." He raised one of his own hands to regard it sceptically for a moment before dropping it to turn to Arthur once more. "You don't have one?"

Snorting, Arthur shook his head. Some of his friends did; Leon had just started dating a girl in their class and Elyan had said his sister Gwen, a year younger than them, had plans to ask the boy down the road on a date over the Christmas holidays, but Arthur? No, Arthur didn't want that. In all seriousness, he was far fonder of spending time with his friends. If having a girlfriend meant that he had to bring her along to their holiday trips like Morgana did her boyfriends, potentially berefting Arthur of the time he spent with Merlin then he didn't want one. He wouldn't stand for that. There wasn't even a girl that he fancied.

"Why not?" Merlin asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged awkwardly, dropping his gaze down to his boots. He didn't kick the snow that clustered around them, however; that would be rude to Merlin and he didn't want to upset his friend. "I just don't want to. There's no one at school that I fancy."

"That you fancy?" Merlin asked, and Arthur caught his confusion from the corner of his eye before understanding dawned. "Oh, you mean someone that you want to be your girlfriend?"

Arthur nodded.

"There's no one at your school that you like that way?"

Arthur nodded again, turning towards Merlin. His embarrassment was fading slightly in the face of Merlin's open questioning, entirely devoid of teasing. "Not at school, really."

"Then what about outside of school?" Merlin asked. "I've never been to a school at all, but I have people that I like anyway."

Arthur found himself replying before he even realised it. "Yeah, of course. I mean, I like –" He stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise. _Wait, was that…?_ He raised his gaze to meet Merlin's once more. _Was that the – was that the same thing?_ "I like you?"

His own words were more of a question that a statement this time. He blinked in surprise for a moment, as Merlin stared back at him with his incessant curiosity. Then he nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I like you, Merlin."

For a long moment Merlin didn't say anything. The wind dragged at his hair once more, momentarily hiding his face again before shifting direction once more and revealing the pale whiteness of his skin, his expression openly contemplative once more. Slowly, just as slowly as Arthur had, he nodded in turn. "That's good. I like you too, Arthur."

Arthur wasn't prepared for what happened next. He'd never thought of Merlin that way before, or at least never realised he'd thought that way, and as such when Merlin abruptly smiled and leant towards him, pressing his cold lips against Arthur's for the barest of moments, Arthur was stunned.

He hadn't expected that. He hadn't anticipated it and was left wide-eyed and staring up at where Merlin blinked brightly down at him from barely a step away. "That's what people who like one another do, isn't it?" He asked, and though Arthur knew he was older than him he very definitely seemed the more ignorant of the two of them. "It's what I've seen, anyway."

Arthur's lips were cold, barely recovering their warmth from Merlin's touch. Perhaps it shouldn't have felt good. Perhaps Arthur should have been unnerved by the coldness, by the suddenness of the unexpected kiss, but… Now that it had happened, now that Merlin had done it, Arthur realised that he did want it. He wanted it very much. With Merlin.

Nodding, Arthur stepped towards him and raised a tentative hand. The touch of Merlin's skin, even his hair as Arthur settled his fingers upon it, was cold even through his glove. Arthur had never done this before but… but he very much wanted to. "Yeah. That's what they do." Then he stretched up on his toes slightly and returned the kiss.

Merlin's lips stung slightly once more, numbing where Arthur pressed his own upon them, but Arthur didn't care. When he returned home and his mother fretted over how his lips looked sore and red, his nose one the verge of a cold and his fingers utterly chilled, Arthur didn't mind.

It was the very best kind of cold.


	3. Chapter 3

_Arthur Pendragon: Sixteen years old  
Eager Participant of the Annual Christmas Holiday and Boyfriend of Merlin, the boy of Winter_

* * *

His mother was frowning as she stood beside the door tugging her gloves on and pointedly ignored the way Uther urged her to hurry up with a touch to the shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be alright? I'd rather stay at home with you if you're not feeling well."

Arthur shook his head, offering a smile before he tamped it back a little. Right. Not feeling well. The sickly person who chose to stay at home rather than go out to dinner in town weren't quite as casual and widely-smiling as all that. Arthur leant against the hallway wall. "No, it's okay. I think I'm just a little bit tired from the trip. I might just go to bed."

"Tired my arse," Morgana muttered loud enough to be heard. She shot Arthur a smirk as she tucked her hat on her head; his mother might be fooled by his act but Arthur was sure that, even if she didn't know the real reason for his behaviour, Morgana at least was aware he was bluffing. The slight quirk of her eyebrow was indication enough.

"You have my number," his father was saying, likely as much to soothe his mother's concern as for Arthur's benefit. It was a redundant statement, for of course he had his father's number. Arthur wasn't _that_ backward. "And you have the number of the restaurant should you need it."

"Yes sir," Arthur said with a nod. There was no point pulling the sickly act with Uther Pendragon. When he'd decided that Arthur wasn't coming he hadn't pursued the notion of encouraging him otherwise any further.

"You make sure you do call if you need anything," his mother said as she turned towards the door. Morgana was already disappearing through into the icy night, shaking her head with a final smirk flashed over her shoulder. Arthur's mother took a step towards him and patted him briefly on the cheek in one of those awkward little touches that always discomforted him when they came from anyone. Or almost everyone. "I'll pick up some Nurofen or whatever equivalent they have around these parts for you, okay?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Arthur sighed. "I think I'm probably just tired. I'll sleep it off."

His mother's lips thinned slightly – really, she was so unnecessarily concerned it was almost frustrating – before she nodded shortly. Leaning forwards to press a brief kiss on Arthur's cheek that he struggled not to shrug off, she offered him one more pat to the cheek before turning to leave. His father spared Arthur only on more glance, a short, accepting nod of his head, before turning and following after her.

Arthur didn't move from where he leant on the wall as the door closed. He didn't budge as the lights of the taxi pooled through the windows either side of the door, didn't take a step until those lights disappeared to the sound of a fading engine. Arthur waited for two long breaths, then he was scrambling into motion.

A year. A whole year it had been since he'd last visited Sweden and the nameless town they always holidayed in, and it had nearly killed him. Fuck but he'd missed Merlin so much. If he could he would have urged his parent to leave for their trip even earlier this year, to stay even longer as he had the previous year, but he knew it wouldn't make any difference. His father was set in his ways, wouldn't deviate regardless of how Arthur all but begged.

Arthur should just go himself. Next year he should just leave early, regardless of whether school had finished yet or not.

Arthur raced down the hallway at almost a run, swinging on the doorframe into his room in his haste. Full night had already fallen – they'd gotten into the airport later than usual this year because Morgana had insisted they leave after she'd finished work for the week – and it was all Arthur could manage to ensure that his first night at least he would have free. Free to go and visit Merlin, to see him, to simply _be_ with him as he hadn't for too long.

A whole year was far too long.

Arthur was stumbling around his room, throwing his jacket on and hopping on one foot as his tugged a boot on his other, when a knocking sound drew his attention. He paused in his fumbling, glancing towards the window over his shoulder. The dark window, mostly curtained and revealing only the blackness of night through a thin sliver. Night, and a blossom of ice unfurling like a blossoming flower on the glass.

Arthur's breath caught for all of a second before he was throwing himself at the window and flinging the curtains open and the window immediately after it. A blast of cold air, caught on a sudden wind, swept into the room and immediately chilled him even through his jacket, but Arthur didn't care. He was already smiling broadly because Merlin…

In an instant, Merlin was alighting on the windowsill, legs slung inside and swinging slightly as he settled himself on the ledge. He was smiling himself, head cocked as was so achingly familiar to Arthur and eyes glowing with their familiar will o' wisp brightness.

Arthur was rendered momentarily speechless. It had become a habit of his when he saw Merlin again for the first time after an _entire year_ , one he couldn't quite seem to shake. Merlin was beautiful, and though it was a realisation that Arthur had been vaguely aware of since he'd first seen him so many years ago, it only hit him with renewed force again each time he saw him.

They were about the same age, now. Or at least they seemed to be there about, for Arthur didn't even know how old Merlin really was. Centuries? Millennia? It hardly seemed to matter. In all the time that Arthur had known him, Merlin hadn't changed at all; not physically and not in his light-hearted joviality, his love for the strange life he possessed. He still wore the thin and torn black slacks that reached no further than his knees, the black jumper with only one full sleeve and never any shoes to go along with it. He was still deathly pale, as pale as the snow he conjured from his fingers, his features still sharp and angular and youthful in a way that, through Arthur's child eyes, he hadn't quite registered when he'd first met him. The haphazard mop of his hair that brushed carelessly across his forehead was still overlong, still contrasting starkly to his skin for its darkness, yet never seemed able to hide the brightness of his eyes, the wideness of his smile.

He _was_ beautiful. And he was Arthur's, because not two years ago Arthur had asked him and he'd said yes. Dammit, but Arthur only wished he could follow Merlin everywhere for the entire year.

He was reaching for him without thought a moment after Merlin had appeared, even before he found his tongue. In an instant, Arthur was tugging Merlin through his window, arms locked around him and holding him with the intention of never letting go. Merlin was skinny, was just a little taller than Arthur and the chill that radiated from his skin would have been aversive to many, but Arthur loved it. He'd loved the cold of snow and winter for years now, even before he'd grown to love Merlin.

"I've missed you," were the first words that Arthur spoke. He didn't even realise he was saying them until his own ears heard their muffled announcement, muted as they were in Merlin's shoulder. It felt just so perfect to be with him once more, so easy. It was as though no time had passed at all, even if the longing ache in Arthur's chest remained.

Merlin uttered a small little laugh, bright and carefree as always. "I've missed you too. I wasn't sure if you were coming tonight."

"I'd have made sure of it," Arthur said, even though he knew that his schedule was as much driven by that of his parents' as anything. He drew away just slightly, enough to peer into Merlin's face and meet his open smile with one of his own. It was impossible not to smile in Merlin's presence. "I didn't know you knew where I stayed."

Merlin raised an eyebrow that was just slightly condescending. It was different to Morgana's condescension, however, and only flooded Arthur with that familiar cool warmth. "Of course I know. I've always known where you live when you're here."

"Really? How?"

"You leave footprints in my snow," Merlin replied by way of explanation. And though Arthur had never really understood how that worked, he accepted it as such.

In a brief moment of releasing Merlin from his arms, Arthur shrugged his jacket back off his shoulders. It dropped carelessly to the floor but Arthur barely even notice, was already wrapping his arms around Merlin once more. A shiver rippled down his spine at the icy feel of him, but Arthur didn't mind. He'd grown to love that feeling too. Leaning towards Merlin, he brushed his cheek against his cool skin before turning to press a brief, chaste kiss upon his lips. Merlin replied in kind, just as he always did.

They'd both come a long way since that first, hesitant kiss years before. Arthur had grown to understand that he would never do anything _but_ kiss Merlin if he had the choice. His lips always stung, always burned from the cold of it as though he'd kissed frostbite itself, but he didn't care. Arthur had grown to like that feeling too.

"You're so cold," he found himself murmuring into Merlin's lips after another brief touch.

Merlin hummed in reply. It was a happy sound, as though he took Arthur's words for a compliment. He most likely did. "And you're warm."

"Sorry," Arthur said. "I don't mean to be."

"It's alright. I can fix that." And making good his words, Merlin wrapped his arms more tightly around Arthur and squeezed him with a chilling embrace. An instant later and an icy breeze swirled through the window with a flutter of snowflakes, spreading the curtains further to allow the coolness of night to sweep in more completely. Arthur felt another stronger shiver tremble across his skin, but he only squeezed Merlin back in turn all the harder.

Merlin wasn't human. That much Arthur knew, had grown to understand more completely. He didn't quite know what he was and Merlin hadn't been able to explain either – or perhaps he hadn't quite known himself; he certainly hadn't quite seemed to understand the question when Arthur had asked it of him two years before. He was a creature of winter, Winter incarnate, and he didn't age. He conjured snow with a flutter of his fingers and a golden glow of his eyes and he danced on the wind as though it were an ever-moving stage. More than that, however, he didn't quite act human. He was almost unshakeably happy, delighting in the little things that winter gifted, and seemed to heartily live for every moment. Arthur loved that about him. He so rarely grew angry or upset that it was a strange sight to see much of the time.

And yet at the same time there was something decidedly inhuman about him. Most significantly that Arthur could discern, he simply thought differently. Whether it was for the fact that he was as old as time itself, that he lived by and for the moment, or for some other reason, Arthur didn't know, but he noticed. One such thing he noticed was that Merlin – there were some things that Merlin didn't seem to understand, no matter how Arthur attempted to describe it.

He didn't understand why Summer had to exist at all, idly begrudging it no matter how Arthur attempted to explain seasons to him. Merlin didn't really understand the concept of time, either, and it had occurred to Arthur on more than one occasion that while the year seemed to draw endlessly for him between the times he last saw him, for Merlin it could pass as quickly as a blink of the eyes. And besides that…

Merlin didn't understand death. He'd never been repenting of the death of the boy Arthur had witnessed the first time he'd seen him, even if Arthur himself found he could never blame him for what had happened. He didn't even blink when Arthur had asked him some years ago if the snowstorm down south that had overturned that truck and killed the driver was his doing. He'd simply nodded, shrugged and said, "That was my storm, yes". They'd left it at that.

Arthur knew he probably should have been concerned for that fact. Horrified even, just as he should have been unnerved by Merlin's magical abilities. But he wasn't. He'd never been. Arthur sometimes wondered if that made him a little inhuman himself because really, what he cared the most for was quite simply… Merlin.

Breathing in the sharp, icy scent of him – if Winter could have a smell it would be that of Merlin – Arthur closed his eyes. "Were you waiting for me?" He asked.

Merlin hummed in reply, drawing his fingers up and down Arthur's back as though to chase away the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He was doing a good job of it, too. "Since you came, yeah."

"I'm so glad I conned Mum into letting me stay behind," Arthur murmured to himself.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Arthur said with a shake of his head. He pressed another kiss on Merlin's cheek; he could swear he felt the heat seep from him with the touch. "Where have you been?"

"Hm?" Merlin asked, turning towards him and tilting his head curiously. "You mean before here?"

"Before here," Arthur confirmed. He'd years ago asked Merlin what he did when winter wasn't gripping the makeshift town and Merlin had merely blinked at him in confusion, uttering the words "What do you mean? Winter is always where I am." It took Arthur a moment to realise that Merlin didn't remain in the town throughout the entire year. That he truly did move with the winter, or perhaps that winter followed with him.

Such an understanding was one of several reasons that Arthur had put his urge to request of his parent that they move to Sweden out of his mind. It was certainly the primary one, for if Merlin wasn't here anyway then Arthur didn't want to be either. It was surprising that Merlin stayed in Sweden for as long as he did.

Merlin was frowning thoughtfully at Arthur's question, and Arthur couldn't help but plant another kiss on his lips as he did so. Really, an entire year without had made him as hungry as a starving man. "I'm not sure what it's called."

"Where was it?"

"Down?" Merlin said, more of a question than a confirmation. "And across?" He made a vague gesture in what Arthur discerned as a westerly direction.

"Norway, maybe?" Arthur asked.

Merlin only shrugged as though he didn't know for sure. He liked didn't. "I decided to come here early this year, though."

"Why?"

"Because you said you wanted to try something. It's exciting, of course."

Merlin spoke as though he were stating the obvious, a smile spreading across his lips as he in turn pressed a kiss on Arthur's. It was slow and deep and icy, and Arthur shivered for a mixture of cold and ardour.

Arthur was never sure how much Merlin was simply humouring him for his hugs and kisses. It was almost as though he'd never done either before himself, and though he offered as much readily enough, actively sought to engage in doing so on many occasions, Arthur was always left with the understanding that for Merlin at least it wasn't as particularly, achingly special as it was for Arthur. He tried not to feel disappointed for that.

His attempt at vanquishing that disappointment was made easier when, each time Merlin saw him now and had seen him for years, it was to dart towards him in a flying leap and wrap him in a hug, dropping a kiss on his cheek or his nose, his forehead or, more and more frequently, his lips. Arthur revelled for each and every touch, had grown to live for them and long for them in the long year he had to wait until the next winter holiday. He wanted to be with Merlin quite simply all the time, and that realisation had been accompanied by other wants.

Arthur had told Merlin the previous year, the night before he was due to leave, that he'd wanted to 'try something'. In reality, it was something Arthur had wanted to 'try' for years now; he'd only just plucked up the courage to ask Merlin a year before, a request of sorts only made slightly less awkward by the fact that Merlin apparently didn't know what he was talking about at all.

That he'd remembered Arthur's request, though… it made Arthur's gut roil in an entirely pleasant way.

"You want to, then?" Arthur asked, drawing away from Merlin slightly so as to better look him in the face.

Merlin smiled at him impishly. "I don't even know what it is, Arthur." The way he spoke suggested he didn't much care for the 'what', however. Merlin was always like that. He seemed incessantly enthusiastic to try anything novel and exciting.

Arthur bit back his embarrassment. Being apparently the more knowledgeable of the two of them, he would have to take the reins in this situation, even if his 'knowledge' was minimal at best. "I wanted to… I wanted to…"

Merlin laughed, a swirl of frozen breeze arising and swirling around the room alongside it. "Is it that hard to say?" He asked.

Arthur cringed slightly, dropping his forehead onto Merlin's shoulder. He could feel his flush dissipate into Merlin's cool skin, the iciness apparent through Merlin's thin jumper. "Surprisingly yes."

"Can you show me what it is, then?"

Slowly, Arthur raised his head. He turned his gaze towards Merlin and blinked at him mutely for a moment. "I…"

Merlin wore his curiosity and good-humour like a well-worn cloak. It painted his face so perfectly that even the sight of it eased some of Arthur's awkwardness. He shrugged as Arthur stuttered. "If it's too hard to explain then just show me. It's often easier to see than to hear anyway."

"You'd… you'd trust me with that?"

Merlin stared back at him, the smile unwavering upon his lips. "Of course I would. You trusted me when I asked you to follow me to the cliff, didn't you?"

 _That's something of a different thing,_ Arthur thought to himself, but he didn't say as much out loud. To Merlin, perhaps placing trust in another wasn't quite as significant as Arthur had perceived. He wondered at that; perhaps there was something to be said for such ready trust?

Slowly, Arthur nodded. "I can – I can try," he said, and felt himself shiver slightly once more. Not for the cold this time, however. Instead, it was sudden upwelling of nervous energy, of his own excitement, that flooded through him. He'd thought of doing just this, of doing it with Merlin, for years now, for almost as long as he'd realised the true nature of his feelings. Fuck, but he wanted him so badly. "Then just follow my lead?"

Merlin shrugged and nodded easily, smile widening. Arthur leant forwards for another brief kiss, pressing into Merlin with increasing depth and passion. He lost himself in his mouth as Merlin curled his arms around his neck and drew him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, was cold in a way that Arthur knew kisses weren't supposed to be but that he loved anyway.

Merlin didn't object when Arthur tugged at his jumper, raising it over his head. He adopted his curious expression once more, faintly confused, before Arthur was discarding his own shirt and something like understanding settled upon his features. Arthur paused only briefly to consider that. Maybe Merlin wasn't quite so oblivious after all.

Any such thought fled from him, however, with each article of clothing discarded. Arthur couldn't help but stare, drinking in ever inch of skin revealed. Merlin was long and skinny, Arthur had already known that, skin pale to the point of translucent, but Arthur hadn't really appreciated it until that moment. He drew his hands along every chilling inch of him, his fingers growing numb as they trailed across his waist, along his ribs, curving down the length of his arm and down across buttocks and thighs. Arthur didn't care about that numbness, though, and he didn't stop. He didn't think he could have even had he wanted to.

Merlin touched him just as much in turn. Every whisper of his long fingers across Arthur's skin left a trail of goosebumps in their wake, brushing across the fine hairs of Arthur's arms, of his chest and down his waist like the delicious kiss of an icy breeze. Arthur found himself gasping beneath it, every nerve ending made hypersensitive, and he didn't think it was only because of the cold.

Arthur lost himself in Merlin for a long time. Longer than he even realised, than he cared to consider. He peppered his skin with kisses that froze as soon as he withdrew his lips, huffed beneath those Merlin placed on him in turn as they stung delightfully and chillingly. Arthur had been on the tail end of his friends' descriptions of romantic encounters on more than one occasion but this… Arthur was sure that they'd never experienced anything like this. How could they?

Finally, when a brief touch of lucidity settled upon him, Arthur urged Merlin towards his bed. Merlin followed his direction readily enough, allowing himself to be urged onto the blankets and dragging Arthur after him. No, Merlin might not be familiar or even originally eager for touching, but there was nothing but enthusiasm in the way he wrapped his arms around Arthur and held him tightly against every inch of his icy body, sucking upon Arthur's lips and breathing cool breath into his lungs. Arthur knew breath wasn't supposed to feel like that, but he didn't care. He'd never been one much for having anyone puffing hot air into his ear anyway. This was different. This was so much better.

"I'm going to – I'm going to try something," Arthur managed to stutter into Merlin's lips. It was difficult to speak though Arthur wasn't sure if it was for the passion or the trembling cold that shook him.

"Mm," Merlin replied, for once rendered momentarily muted. He seemed perfectly happy to pepper kissed along Arthur's neck, across his shoulders as he raked his frozen fingers across every inch of skin that he could get his hands on. Arthur was perfectly content to allow him to do just that, had to struggle not to as he fumbled for the bottle he'd brought along with him that year, storing almost abashedly in the nightstand. It really was a struggle, a difficult fumble given Arthur's ignoring of the need to pull away from Merlin for even a second.

He somehow managed, uncapping the lid of the bottle and squirting a generous portion into his hand. Merlin paused in his distracted kissing to shift his attention momentarily towards him. "What's that?"

Arthur couldn't even find the headspace to feel embarrassed for the question as he shifted atop of Merlin once more. "I want to try something," was all he could manage.

"So you keep saying," Merlin said with a hint of laughter. He dropped his head back into the pillow and smiled up at Arthur, pressing a finger onto the tip of his nose in a familiar touch. "So try it."

"I just – I just don't want to hurt you," Arthur said. It was almost impossible to sit still, to not-touch as his fingers so desperately itched to. His blood was pounding audibly though his veins, his breath stuttering harder than it should be, and the warmth flooding his groin was almost painful for its intensity.

Merlin reached up towards him, curling a hand around the back of Arthur's head and pulling him towards him for another kiss. "I don't think you'll hurt me," he murmured against Arthur's lips.

Arthur's fingers curled into his hand, dampened by the lube cupped in his palm. "It just might feel a bit strange," he muttered in reply.

He felt more than saw Merlin shrug, shifting beneath him until the cool length of his body pressed more fully against Arthur's. "Strange can be good," he said. "Strange can be exciting."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that. _Strange can be good…_ Well, Merlin was very definitely strange and he was certainly the best thing that had even happened to Arthur.

With only a moment's pause longer for hesitancy, Arthur reached tentative fingers down between them. He paused for a moment, shifting to catch one of Merlin's legs and raising it to hip waist. Then, with a swallow because _fuck, he was actually doing this,_ Arthur stroked a finger around his entrance for a moment before easing it in.

Merlin gasp was unlike any sound Arthur had ever heard, unlike anything he'd ever heard from Merlin. He was captivated for a moment, gaze spinning up towards Merlin to catch a glimpse of his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipped back slightly and his mouth fallen open as though in surprise. It was… Arthur felt himself grow harder just for the sight of it.

His fingers were freezing. Even inside of him there was nothing about Merlin that wasn't icily cold. As Arthur struggled with keeping his head, with working Merlin open with first one finger then another, it was to realise that. To blink with the unexpected realisation that liquid and ice didn't make a necessarily fluid combination and to reach for the bottle once more. Merlin moaned as he retracted his fingers, only to gasp once more, a hand reaching for Arthur to curl into his hair as Arthur pressed into him once more.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked. To his own ears his voice sounded distant, an echo of someone else's words and nearly overwhelmed by the pounding in his ears. The heat pooling between his legs, the tightness and the _need_ , was almost unbearable.

Merlin rocked his head towards him, blinking hazy eyes open. It was an expression that Arthur had never seen before and one he doubted he would ever forget. Merlin huffed a gasping breath. "You're right. It does feel strange."

"Strange? Is that -?"

"It's a good kind of strange," Merlin supplied for him, and as if to emphasise his words he locked his hands into Arthur's hair once more, hooking his raised leg more tightly around Arthur's waist as though to draw him closer. Arthur almost groaned for the sheer weight of his words, once again when he twisted his fingers slightly and with a squeezing of muscles Merlin moaned.

He couldn't have waited much longer if he'd tried. Withdrawing his fingers – Arthur couldn't even feel them anymore for their numbness, but he didn't care – he scrambled for his nightstand once more, extracting a condom and fumbled with fingers suddenly too big and uncoordinated. He did manage, however, managed with a struggle, and grasping himself he paused only long enough to asked Merlin if he was alright.

Merlin only nodded fervently, adjusting his leg around Arthur's waist once more. It was all the permission that Arthur needed, and, lifting Merlin's hips, he leant into him. In a gasping, panting thrust, as slow as he could make it though a detached thought was worried that it wasn't slow enough, Arthur pressed himself into Merlin. The warbling cry that rose from Merlin's lips was entirely captivating.

 _This is it_ , Arthur thought hazily, blinking for clarity that wouldn't come as he awkwardly bent over Merlin to press a desperate kiss against his lips. He was cold, freezing, his breath uttered in a visible fog and his fingers having lost their feeling entirely. The tightness around his length was jarringly cold, but it felt so absolutely perfect that Arthur could only moan as he withdrew and thrust himself forwards once more. Merlin's uttered gasp, the claw-like grasp of his fingers that curled into Arthur's shoulders like frozen needles, was like music to his ears, a caress to his skin.

 _This. I could never want for anything else in the world if I have this_. He fell into Merlin and lost himself in his frozen embrace.

* * *

Arthur didn't remember falling to sleep. He couldn't recall much after collapsing atop of Merlin, panting heavily and gasping in his release as he wrapped himself around him in a fierce, shivering embrace. Cleaning up had been distracted, half-hearted, and Arthur couldn't really remember much of that either.

In hindsight it was probably the cold that had made him so stupid. Not that Arthur cared.

His mother found him, checking in on him when they returned from dinner. Arthur woke to her cry of horror, the shaking of her too-hot hands upon his shoulders and the subsequent hysterical shrieks for his father of "Uther! God, Uther, something's wrong. Uther!"

The room was an icebox, snow seeping through the window and ice coating the walls. Arthur had likely only survived as long as he had for the blanket tucked around him, even if his skin was a patchwork of red and purple beneath. Arthur had to wonder if Merlin had been the one to wrap him so before he'd disappeared for Arthur certainly couldn't recall doing as much himself.

His mother was terrified and panicked, his father ridiculing him for his foolishness in his own expression of fear and Morgana shaking her head in bafflement and incredulity at her brother's idiocy. They'd all called him a fool with varying degrees of sincerity, and Arthur hadn't been allowed out of bed for days. It was only his persistent resistance to leaving that they remained at the town at all.

Arthur didn't care. He didn't care that his family was upset with him, even if he knew he should. He didn't care that he could barely move for days, that he only just regained a sharp, painful feeling to his fingers a full twenty-four hours after awakening to his mother's terrified cries. It had been the best moments of his life and Arthur would never regret it.

If anything, it only made him love the cold all the more.

* * *

A/N: Liking it? Don't? Have anything to say: questions, suggestions etc? Please leave a review to let me know your thoughts. It's really appreciated.

Also, I just wanted to say a thank you to **Pompous Butterfly** and **Babilieboro** who have already left reviews. Thanks, guys. It's always really great to hear your thoughts :)


	4. Chapter 4

WARNING: Suicidal triggers

* * *

 _Arthur Pendragon: Nineteen Years Old  
Son of the Widower Uther Pendragon and Sole Participant of the Annual Christmas Holiday_

* * *

Three years it had been.

Three years since Arthur had visited Sweden, since he'd taken the trip to the nameless little town, since he'd stood with gaze upturned towards the Aurora Borealis with less appreciation than he should have because seeing them every year for his entire life had put a dampener on the glory of such a sight.

The annual trips of the Pendragon family had ceased abruptly in Arthur's seventeenth year. It had always been a trip of reminiscence for his parents, to relive the first holiday they'd ever taken together, and had become a fond habit for the both of them over the years that they'd continued even after Arthur was born.

Then Ygraine Pendragon had passed away. After that it became too painful for Uther to continue the tradition. Or at least that was what Morgana said. Arthur had never been particularly good at reading his father.

His mother's absence left a hole in his life. That was the only way Arthur could describe it. He couldn't tell if he was grief-stricken, if he was in pain, if he was numb for the loss of one of his parents so suddenly and unexpectedly. Arthur couldn't understand so he simply didn't try to. It wasn't like he could do anything about it, anyway. Mourning was painful, true, but it was pointless. Always pointless. It didn't do anything.

Listless was how Morgana described him. Listless and detached, as though he was at a loss. And Arthur was. He was at a loss. He didn't know how he was supposed to react in the slightest.

Years passed and Uther withdrew from his children. Arthur didn't see much of him and he spoke to him even less, especially after their first Christmas without his mother when he'd approached Uther within a week of their usual departure date and hesitantly asked if they were going.

Uther had only stared at Arthur with a blank, stony expression for a long, long moment. When he spoke his words were hard and clipped. "No, Arthur. Of course we're not going. Don't be an utter fool." Then he'd turned on his heel and left the dining room they'd been standing in.

Arthur missed his mother. He felt for Uther, too, for his loss, he really did. But in that moment and ever since, Arthur couldn't help but hate him a little bit. Because if they didn't go to Sweden…

If they didn't go then Arthur wouldn't see Merlin.

Three years was how long it took. Three years of resisting the longing, aching urge, of bowing beneath Uther's wishes and his increasingly fierce demand that "No, we are _not_ going. We are never going back there." Arthur's mother's absence was never more profound than in those moments. Arthur knew he wasn't the only one to feel it, too; Morgana felt her loss in those moments of verbalised forbiddance too, and Ygraine hadn't even been her real mother. Arthur didn't think it was simply his perception that saw her withdrawing in turn. He'd become distant from Uther, but Morgana had also withdrawn from him.

Such was life.

After three years, it changed. Arthur had never stopped longing, had never wanted for anyone but Merlin in that entire time, and three years was how long it took for him to decide that he couldn't live without him. He would have sought him elsewhere, would have chased the winter chill with the hopes of finding him if he'd thought it would help. But he didn't. Arthur didn't even know where to start looking.

He made his decision without informing his father, without mentioning it to his sister. Just as he had done for years, Arthur found himself stepping of the plane onto Swedish soil into the chilling depths of winter. Night was a long way from falling, and hence Merlin a long way from appearing should he surface at all, but Arthur didn't mind. He only briefly stopped at his rented cabin – a different cabin to that his family had always used, because he couldn't quite bring himself to step into the old one – before he was out once more and trudging through the thick winter snow towards the river where he'd always seen Merlin.

Arthur waited. He waited alone and silent, and yet surrounded by the chilled air and light shower of snow, the curling wind that slipped idly through the trees to tug at his cuffs and pull at his collar, Arthur felt comfortable. He closed his eyes and simply stood, bathing in the midst of Winter and Wind.

He didn't open them again until he felt the cold hands of frost skitter over his shoulders. A smile, one that rarely graced his lips these days, spread unconsciously across Arthur's lips as he raised his hands to wrap ungloved fingers around Merlin's as they rested on his in turn. Twisting, he managed to shift so that he was facing him instead.

Merlin was smiling. He was always smiling, the will o' wisp blue light brightening his eyes and seeming to make his skin glow even paler in the evening gloom. Arthur couldn't help but stare at him for a long, long moment, drinking in the sight of him as he hadn't in years. He was younger now – or more correctly he hadn't aged as Arthur had. Physically, he'd been frozen at an age younger than Arthur was now, and Arthur had continued to grow past him. A flicker of memory, of the first time Arthur had seen Merlin and the thought of him as the beautiful young man he was, rose to the forefront of his mind.

Merlin hadn't changed, though Arthur's perception of him had. For some reason, his stasis left Arthur faintly saddened. He leant into Merlin and wrapped him in a squeezing embrace, so tight it must have been uncomfortable.

No objection was voiced, however. Merlin only curled around him in turn, fingers grazing through the tufts of hair flicking beneath Arthur's hat, weaving through his scarlet scarf fondly and freezing it to frosty hardness against Arthur's neck. It was cold, sent a shiver coursing down Arthur's spine, but he loved it. He loved the cold. It made him _feel_ again, feel as he hadn't felt in the years after his mother's death. Maybe that was it? Maybe that was his kind of grief? He'd certainly never felt anything else.

"I've missed you so much," Arthur found himself murmuring into Merlin's shoulder. "So, so much. I'm so sorry I haven't come back for so long."

Merlin only hummed in reply, a neutral sound that could have been acceptance, denial or even confusion. Though Arthur loved him, knew that in his own way Merlin loved him too, he didn't know if Merlin had even registered his absence. Maybe it wasn't quite as big, as long, as achingly insufferable for Merlin as it had been for Arthur.

Arthur found himself talking. He barely even realised his own words, heard them for the first time as they resounded in his ears, yet even so he knew them to be the truth. "I've missed you so much, I don't think you couldn't even understand. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I haven't come to see you until. And I never – I never want to leave you again." His voice wavered slightly before continuing in a gush of absolute truth. "You're the most important person to me in the world, Merlin. I want to be with you – to be with you always."

The sincerity of his own words jarred Arthur, would have wavered his knees and caused him to slump had he not been leaning so heavily onto and into Merlin. Merlin held him back, whether unconsciously or deliberately supporting Arthur he didn't know. He only continued to stroke through the hair around Arthur's ear, fingertips freezing the skin with every grazing touch.

It was calming. It was peaceful. It was _home_ , at least to Arthur. He'd spent two weeks with Merlin every year, only two weeks, but he knew on a bone-deep level the truth of his feelings. He _knew_ it, knew that he loved his sister, loved his father, but Merlin was different. He would always be different and so much more to Arthur than… than anyone was.

"Can I?" Arthur found himself asking, pressing his face into the crook of Merlin's neck and his lips to his skin. The stinging chill of contact was like a breath of life. "Can I stay with you? I'll follow you anywhere, I swear I will. Anywhere you go I'll just follow you. Just please… please, I don't want – I don't want to have to leave you again."

Merlin didn't say anything. He didn't speak for a long moment, holding his tongue with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. He'd ceased even in his endless motion, the excitement and dancing joy that always gripped him. There wasn't sadness to his grasp around Arthur, no regret or reluctance even, but a kind of coolly satisfied comfort.

When Merlin did speak, night had nearly fallen and he drew away just slightly so that Arthur could just make out his face through the darkness. He cocked his head as he always did, with the curiosity that he would likely always have, and a smile played across his lips. Smaller than usual but sincere nonetheless. "Are you sure?" He said quietly, his breath like a gust of frosted air blown across Arthur's face.

Arthur didn't know what Merlin was specifically referring to. There was suggestion in his tone, as though Arthur's agreement would afford him permission to an unspoken request, though Arthur knew not what for. It didn't matter, anyway. He was nodding before he even thought about it. "Yes. I'm sure. I never want to leave you again."

Of all the things in the world, Merlin had always been Arthur's constant. Arthur liked change, had grown accustomed to the constant moving his family undertook, grew familiar with jumping schools and never settling down. He'd accepted those changes, just as he accepted that Uther was changed beyond repair after his wife's death and that Morgana was changing as her world grew more focused upon her fiancée and her career, leaving Arthur behind.

Arthur liked change, but he liked his constants too, and Merlin was the absolute of them all. Winter might come and go, vary in coldness and duration, but that it was always there when Arthur turned towards it, that _Merlin_ was always there, the same bright, light-hearted and excitable person that he always was, would never change.

At Arthur's nod, Merlin's smile spread beautifully. It could have illuminated the night had the last of the sun not done the job adequately enough. Taking a step backwards, a step that floated him into the air in the unconscious flight that he always assumed, Merlin held out a hand in offering to Arthur. "Follow me?"

Arthur grasped his fingers without a second thought.

He realised where they were heading when they passed through town, when they drew alongside the frozen lake that he'd looked out across more times than he could recall. Merlin didn't release his hand once as they approached the cliff that he'd first introduced Arthur to what seemed so long ago. He drew him onto the ledge that overlooked the lake itself.

The wind was as fierce as ever, dragging at Arthur's jacket and half frozen scarf, threatening to tear them loose with greedy fingers. It wailed in Arthur's ears, a discordant chorus of highs and lows that followed no particular rhythm but was captivating nonetheless. Arthur had always liked the wind, had always revelled in the feeling of it snapping against his skin with sharp fingers pinching and slapping. The way it would curl and dance around him, grasping him with insubstantial arms and almost lifting him from his feet. Arthur could only regret that it had never managed to.

Merlin stopped at his side, and it was only when Arthur turned detachedly towards him that he realised he was being regarded with thoughtful curiosity once more. A slight frown touched Merlin's forehead, not disgruntled or angry or upset but a frown nonetheless. As Arthur watched, however, it smoothed into a small smile once more. His fingers squeezed Arthur's and as though to add a soothing lull to their surrounding, his eyes flashed briefly golden and a flurry of snowflakes swept around him, dancing in melting petals across every point of Arthur's bared skin.

Arthur loved it. He loved the very thought of it, let alone the feeling.

"What is it?" Arthur murmured, the words barely audible through the chorus that enveloped them. He didn't really understand what Merlin had brought him here for, what it had to do with his request, but it hardly seemed to matter in that moment. Arthur was simply curious. "Did you want to show me something?"

Merlin stared at him, smile still playing across his lips as the wind made a mess of his hair, raking it across his face. Then he stepped forwards, to the very edge of the cliff, stepped forwards again until his foot was hovering over the edge. He didn't let go of Arthur's hand as he seemed to rise onto the wind, air replacing the solidity of ground beneath him. He should have fallen, should have plummeted to a death that Arthur didn't think he could even experience, but he didn't. Merlin walked the air more easily than most would stride along the pavement. Arthur had always been wistfully envious of him for that.

"You want to come with me where I go?" Merlin asked, tipping his head towards Arthur and blinking wide eyes. His expression was warm in a way that he never would be, and Arthur was afforded that old, strange yet familiar impression of warm coolness that he always felt course through him when he was around Merlin.

Arthur nodded immediately, edging forwards slightly at the faint tug of Merlin's fingers until his toes clipped the edge of the cliff. He barely noticed. "I do."

Merlin nodded slowly, understandingly. He glanced momentarily down at his own bare feet, at the emptiness below him, and pursed his lips slightly. "This was how it happened for me. A long, long time ago. I didn't… I didn't _do_ anything but simply…" He breathed out a sighing breath and tilted his head back, eyes closing as his face turned towards the sky. One arm of hand that wasn't holding onto Arthur's fingers, stretched out alongside him as though welcoming the air. "I simply embraced it."

Arthur stared at him with a familiar awe, as he drifted just slightly over the edge of the cliff. Not falling but hanging suspended. "What do you mean?" He whispered.

Merlin shouldn't have been able to hear him for the volume of the wind beating in their ears, but he did. He clearly did, for his turned his gaze down towards Arthur once more and blessed him with his wide smile once more. His free hand reached forwards, presenting his fingers to Arthur in an offering that Arthur took without hesitation. Then, with a slight tug, he stepped backwards upon his stage of wind and drew Arthur along with him. "Follow me."

Arthur had a brief moment of panic. There was a moment in which every instinct within him screamed to stop _,_ that he was going to fall to his death and that he didn't _want_ to die. He wanted to be with Merlin, to be with him always, not plummet to his destruction.

But he trusted Merlin. He trusted him implicitly and perhaps even a little irrationally. As Merlin continued to tug, to urge him closer to the edge, Arthur thrust aside his misgivings and stepped forwards. He edged into the openness, the emptiness, the path of wind that howled around him and swore to tear him in half as much as it promised to catch him.

Arthur felt himself fall. He felt the wind whip around him and couldn't help but draw his eyes closed in sudden, gut-churning terror. He fell, but the feel of Merlin's hands in his own never loosened.

He fell, and then he flew.


	5. Chapter 5

_Arthur Pendragon: Twenty-Two Years Old  
Lost and presumed dead at the age of nineteen.  
A much-loved son and brother. He will be missed._

* * *

Uther Pendragon had been standing motionless for nearly an hour. He'd barely spoken a word, simply stood immobile in the centre of the cemetery, oblivious to the gently falling snow and the whistling wind that periodically intensified before easing once more.

He was alone. He was alone and he didn't care, for Uther had been alone for much of the past years. It didn't pain him as much as it once had, though on that day, that day in particular just as the day when he'd lost Ygraine, it ached particularly profoundly.

There was no one there to speak to. Uther always took himself to the cemetery on two specific days of the year, trekked through the snow or thin grass respectively to stop before the pair of marble headstones engraved with the names of his wife and son. He never cried, never spoke to them as he'd seen others do to the shadows of their loved ones.

Uther had never been much of a talker. Perhaps that had been much of the problem, at least with his son.

Arthur had disappeared. Three years ago he'd disappeared without a trace and to that day in particular he'd been announced officially lost. Police reports and investigatory parties had found evidence of him taking a plane to Sweden – to _Sweden_ , and for the love of God Uther cursed himself for not considering it. Arthur had developed something of a longing for the country, a persistent desire to make the trip not only after Uther had forbidden it but before that. Years before it. Uther didn't know why. It didn't make sense.

Maybe he should have asked about that, too. He should have asked about so many things.

They hadn't found Arthur. The cabin he'd rented was empty, untouched but for where his bags had been left, but otherwise there was no sign of him. To Uther that only hurt all the more. It hurt that he didn't know what had happened to his son. It hurt that he hadn't even a body to confirm of what the police told him must be so, of their speculations as to what had happened. There was no body, but neither was their a trace of Arthur. He'd left his wallet behind, his phone and all of his belongings. There wasn't anywhere that he could possibly have gone.

Uther didn't cry. He hadn't cried, not once. He'd barely shed a tear for his wife's passing because he'd never been one capable of doing so. It just felt so… inadequate. What did tears do anyway? For Arthur, Uther hadn't managed even that. For some reason, some unknown, unfathomable reason, he couldn't. Uther simply couldn't… he couldn't quite seem to accept that which he knew logically must be the truth.

He couldn't…

He couldn't accept that…

 _Arthur wouldn't… he wouldn't have taken his own life. He_ wouldn't _have._

Uther wished he believed the passing thought as much as the mental tone urged him to. It would give him some peace at least to know that his lack of intervention, his lack of support, hadn't been the cause for his son's… disappearance.

A sharp whip of wind clawed at the scarf that draped loosely around Uther's shoulders, nearly tearing it loose. He squinted slightly into the cold slap, blinking as a flurry of snow beat at him. It wasn't enough to shake him on his feet, but it certainly wasn't pleasant either. Not that Uther had ever been one to be bothered by discomfort. He would stand through a blizzard until the winds and snows of winter ceased their attempts to sway him. On that day, the day of his son's disappearance, Uther wouldn't budge.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The sound of Morgana's voice from behind him was nearly inaudible through the wailing wind. Half-turning, Uther glanced over his shoulder towards her, towards where she struggled against that very wind as it threatened to encompass her in a fierce embrace. She fought an endless battle with her hair as it whipped across her face and eventually gave up as she fell into place beside Uther, hunching her shoulders into her jacket and dropped her chin into her own loosely wrapped scarf. A scarlet scarf, just as she and Arthur had always worn.

She didn't glance towards Uther again. Instead, Morgana affixed her gaze upon the pair of headstones, glossy with ice and wreathed in snow. Uther hadn't bothered to wipe them clean; for some reason it didn't feel right to do so. Except that Morgana clearly felt differently, for she reached forwards and with a gloved hand swept it aside.

The wind buffeted her once more, almost knocking her from her feet for her efforts.

Not that Morgana seemed to care. Straightening, she sighed and made a half-hearted attempt to control the crazed flurry of her hair once more as it was raked around her face. She didn't speak for a long time, not until Uther turned his towards her and she met his gaze with a sidelong glance of her own.

"You could have asked me to come with you," she said in what would have been a moderate tone but came out as little more than a murmur for the volume of the surrounding wind.

Uther shook his head slightly, turning back towards the headstones. They were plain and simple, almost too plain for Uther's taste, but he knew that Ygraine she wouldn't have wanted anything else. For Arthur… Uther was ashamed to admit that he didn't really know what Arthur would have preferred. "It's a despicable day. I wouldn't want to draw you into the cold."

Morgana's snort was just audible through the wind. "You don't think I wouldn't have wanted to come? That I wouldn't have come anyway?"

Uther spared her a sidelong glance. She was frowning slightly, her gaze sharp and her jaw visibly set even through the folds of her scarf that looked to be rapidly unravelling for the persistent tugging of the wind. Morgana was always strong, always unwavering; she was one of the few constants Uther had in his life after the loss of half of his family. He could never be more grateful to her than for that, even if he knew she had her own life and family to consider.

Bowing his head slightly, Uther nodded. "I'm sure you would have. I only thought to be considerate."

"Yes, well, maybe offering me a lift would have been the more considerate thing to do?" Morgana said shortly.

"I walked here," Uther replied.

"What?"

"I caught the bus. And I walked."

Morgana was silent for a moment. Uther saw her head shake slightly as if to ridicule him but she didn't speak to support his theory. Instead, she heaved a sigh so heavy it was nearly audible, even through the fury of the wind.

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Uther felt his eyes loose focus slightly as he stared down at the headstones, settling on the words _Ygraine_ and _Arthur_ , the both of them lost before their time. It was… it was so unjust. Every time Uther visited the cemetery he always thought the same. He wasn't one to question the fate's design, but for his wife, for his son… it was so, so unjust.

Finally, Morgana reached out a hand and locked her fingers around Uther's arm. She gave him a slight tug, urging him to break his unwavering stare with the slight jostle. Uther turned slowly towards her, to where she still struggled with the mess of hair the wind was stirring up. "Come on," she said. "We'll go to a coffee shop of something. You must be nearly frozen by the looks of it."

Uther shook his head slightly, even as he allowed himself to be turned from his wife and son. It was either allow or risk never looking away again. "I have no need for coffee."

"Then humour me. I certainly do," Morgana said in reply, and without taking her hand off his arm she drew him in the vague direction of the exit. Uther didn't bother to fight her. If there was one thing his daughter had inherited from him it was her stubbornness.

As chance would have it, a particularly fierce blast of wind assaulted them just before they could make it to the gate. Morgana let out a startled cry, ducking her head as it nearly buffeted her from her feet, and Uther unconsciously drew her towards him to wrap an arm around her shoulders with instinctive protectiveness. It did little for the grasping hands of the wind, however; they somehow managed to dislodge the scarlet scarf from around Morgana's neck and drag it into a windstorm high in the air. Morgana reached reflexively after it, but it was far out of reach within seconds.

Moments later and the sudden fervour died, leaving only a sharp breeze a little stronger than usual in its wake. Uther eased his hold of his daughter's shoulders as she sighed. "The North Wind wins again," she murmured to herself.

Uther frowned down at her as she shook her head and turned towards the gate once more. "What?" He asked, following after her.

Morgana shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Only something I've heard before. I just figure, if the North Wind wanted it so badly then he probably needs it more than me."

Uther didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know what Morgana was talking about and didn't attempt to make sense of it. He spared only a brief glance over his shoulder for the fluttering length of woven scarf that still danced on the breeze high overhead. Then Uther Pendragon turned away from the cemetery, from the stolen garment caught in the wind's grasping fingers, and followed his daughter.

* * *

Arthur watched them leave. He watched with half an eye as he surfed on a wave of wind into the air, his sister's scarf caught in his fingers. It was a vibrant red, thick and speckled with frost. Warm, or it would have been had it still been looped around someone's neck.

It was strange to see them leave. Not sad so much, because for some reason Arthur never really felt sad to see his father or his sister. He could perceive their grief when they gazed upon the headstone that bore his name, felt a touch of regret and even guilt for having left them when they didn't understand where he'd gone. They though Arthur dead and Arthur couldn't tell them otherwise. He couldn't explain to them that he'd never felt more alive than he did now when he was wrapped in a blanket of wind and drifted twenty meters from the ground, letting the air cradle him like a warm embrace.

Arthur couldn't talk to them at all. They didn't see him, didn't seem to even realise when he touched them; Morgana only fought to grapple her wayward curls beneath her hands when he tugged them loose to run them through his fingers.

But it didn't matter. For reasons Arthur couldn't understand, it didn't seem to matter. He felt the guilt, yes, and he felt the touch of sympathy, but each were only secondary to everything else in the world. Perhaps he should have been full of repentance, should have mourned that he would never speak to his family again but…

What was such grief when there was a wind current to ride upon? When there was a whirlwind to fall into, a hurricane to chase down and dive into the writhing midst of? When there was the sweet, chilling breeze of winter to follow like a starving man would the sweet scent of a banquet? He'd always loved to fly. Always.

To Arthur, such wonders were far more important. He'd never understood Merlin's detachedness, his curiosity yet otherness for humans and disregard for their plights. Now it seemed to make perfect sense.

Turning from the cemetery gate, Arthur swept high upon his winds, twisting upside down in a way that made his heart jump in delight and a smile stretch across his face. Scarf still in hand, trailing it behind him to drag on the winds of his passage, Arthur dove down towards the headstones that he'd left but minutes before, the licking swipes of his passage wiping clean the footprints of his father and sister that marred the perfectly pristine plains of snow with. Arthur paused before the headstones, not quite alighting on the ground but dropping his toes just enough to feel the brush of chilling snow. He'd long ago discarded his boots, for why would he want any barrier between himself and the snow he loved so much?

Merlin was pottering around the headstones himself, still frowning though less so than he had when Morgana had quite rudely swept his carefully heaped wreaths of snow from their marble heads. Though Arthur could still feel and even vaguely understand the love he felt for his sister, he couldn't help but buffet her with a sweep of wind when she'd done that for Merlin's sudden affront and distress. He didn't like it when people messed up his snow. He didn't like it at all.

Merlin glanced towards him when Arthur stopped in his hanging suspension before him, flicking his pale gaze towards him briefly before turning back to his winter work of fluttering fingers and sprinkling snow. The mounds atop the headstones were growing quite nicely once more and with each incremental layer his annoyance seemed to die slightly. Arthur was relieved for that.

"Sorry on Morgana's behalf," Arthur said, listing on the drifting wind towards Merlin and rising just slightly above him. He dropped a kiss absently atop his head that Merlin acknowledged with a brief glance upwards. "She didn't really understand what she was doing."

Merlin hummed a neutral sound, then shrugged. With a final sweep of his hands over the headstones, a final scatter of snowflakes, he stepped backwards slightly and let himself be swept up upon the wind that Arthur draped around his ankles, tugging him into the air. Merlin spun slightly in a lazy arc as they both rose on the air current once more. "I don't understand why she would do that after I'd just put my snow down for it especially."

Arthur shrugged in turn. "She just didn't realise, I suppose." Though the rapidly-dying human part of Arthur rationally understood that, the part that was inhuman, the increasingly large part, was disgruntled on Merlin's behalf. Did Morgana _have_ to do that?

By way of consolation, Arthur twisted in the air slightly as they rose higher and higher and offered the captured scarf towards Merlin. "Here. As recompense."

Merlin shifted his attention towards it and blinked in surprise as though he hadn't realised Arthur held it in his hand. Perhaps he really hadn't; it was very possible he hadn't at all, given his distraction. A sudden, wide smile stretched across his face, that lovely, beautiful smile that Arthur had fallen in love with so many years ago and immediately chased away the residue of his annoyance. "Really?"

Arthur grinned in reply, nodding as he swept towards Merlin and looped the scarf around his neck. "I know red's your favourite colour, though you don't have any to wear."

Merlin hummed once more, a contented sound, before reaching across the distance between then and looping an arm around Arthur's neck to draw him towards him for a kiss. It was light, joyful, grateful even, and Arthur would have been a fool not to respond accordingly.

"Thank you," Merlin murmured into his lips.

"Glad you like it," Arthur replied.

"I do. It reminds me of the neckerchiefs I used to wear back when… before. My favourite was always the red one."

Arthur didn't know what that meant, but he didn't ask. He didn't pursue the offhanded comment because it didn't matter. If it was important – which it likely wasn't – then Merlin would tell him eventually. Instead, he let Merlin capture his hand in his own, pale, icy fingers grasping but not freezing as they once had, and falling backwards into the sudden gust of North Wind that grasped them. Of Arthur's North Wind.

Arthur followed Merlin as he tumbled away. He knew he would always follow Merlin, for where Winter drew the North Wind would always follow.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading the story! I hope you enjoyed it :D Again, sorry for the morbid undertones, or not quite undertones, but I hope you liked it anyway.

Please leave a review to let me know what you thought! Many thanks, wonderful reader.


End file.
